


Those Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines

by AlyKat



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Birthday Exchange Story, Happy Birthday!, M/M, Never written Steampunk before, Or at least mentions of it anyway, Plot What Plot, Smut, Steampunk, This was very new to me, Yeah there's some smut in here, drabble-ish, mentions of background Steve/Tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 01:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/pseuds/AlyKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Phillip J. Coulson marvels at the greatest luxury his prized airship has to offer. </p>
<p>First mate Clinton Barton. </p>
<p>((A birthday drabble-ish thing for Kisleth who asked for C/C Steampunk!Airship AU...I did the best I could, darlin'.))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kisleth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisleth/gifts).



> Disclaimer: Marvel's toys. I found them in the toybox, dressed them up in steampunk airship clothes and tossed 'em to see where they landed. Don't worry, nothing broke and I'll be putting them back in their regular clothes and cuddling them up now that we're finished.
> 
> Note: Thanks to Ralkana for doing a quick read-thru on this for me and for being a cheerleader even though neither one of us know a thing about Steampunk or how to go about writing this! 
> 
> Kisleth, you hit my kyrptonite! I was so stumped on how to write something that's steampunk because I don't really have much interest in it to be honest (which is weird cuz I kinda like the clothes and the time period it's based in, I just have no interest in it beyond that. *Shrugs*). I know this isn't _quite_ what you asked for, but...I think I hit the main points at least. CC, steampunk airship, sex, and mentions of Steve/Tony at least. I hope you enjoy it anyway and that you have a wonderful birthday (even if I am a couple days early posting this!)

 

 

The hum of the engines below the floor slowly pulled Phil from his pleasant slumber. Early morning light drifted lazily across his cabin floor, illuminating the dark, rich reds and bouncing off the opulent golds that accented the room. He was warm and comfortable. The chilled air coming up through the galvanized pipes from below deck --some form of air cooling system that Stark had dreamed up when he’d designed the airship-- billowed out at the ceiling through vents and swirled through the room by way of fans, making his room a comfortable temperature while it was ungodly outside.

The Liberty Shield was a fine airship to be sure. Beyond the most recent technology thanks to his head engineer Anthony Stark. She was sleek and pure class --he’d accept and expect nothing less, after all-- and she sailed through the skies like a fish through water. There were state-of-the-art communication systems that let you be in the control room and speak with those down in the engine room, and if you flipped a switch you could instantly broadcast to every room with a receiver in it. There was a personal line designated strictly for his use from his room should he need to be contacted after he’d gone to quarters for the evening. He could even keep track of their route and flight path without leaving his room, all thanks to the marvels of modern technology. Yes, the Liberty Shield was everything Captain Phillip J. Coulson could have ever hoped for in his flagship aircraft.

As the pale morning light made its way through the window and onto his bed, Phil was reminded of another luxury his airship had. One that hadn’t been designed by Stark, or bought in some exotic land. No, the finest luxury the Liberty Shield held was that of his First Mate, Clinton Barton. The young man had proved his weight in all the riches of the world a hundred times over and then some. He was loyal and strong-willed, and he had an eye for seeing things no one else could. More than once young Barton --and he was young in comparison to Phil, who was a good eight years his senior-- had managed to spot airship pirates before the watchman could. And it was because of Barton’s keen eyesight that they were able to continue sailing around the globe and had earned their reputation as the Unflappable and Unshakeable Airship and Crew.

Phil had stumbled upon Clinton ( “ _Jesus, Sir. Either call me Barton or Clint. You make me feel like I’m back in the orphanage when you call me Clinton._ ” ) when the boy hadn’t been much more than twenty-one. An orphan who’d started off his life selling newspapers on the corner with his older brother before joining up with a traveling carnival act, Clint had been abandoned and left to die on the streets of New York when he’d come down with a burning fever. The carnival, having no use for a sick and potentially dying crewmember --not too mention having no money to pay for a doctor or medicine-- had simply packed up their tents around him while he slept and moved on without him. Had it not been for Phil stumbling upon him, Clint would have wound up just another orphaned street urchin dead in the harsh New York gutters.

There was a quiet huff next to him, the gentle shift of a body that had Phil turning his attention to the soft, brown-gold tuffs of hair sticking up in every direction. Smooth, tanned skin --marred only by a small smattering of discolored scars-- rippled as the lean muscles hidden underneath clenched and turned with the body. At thirty-two, Clint was still every bit as gorgeous and spectacular as he was at twenty-one.

And Phil loved him all the more for it.

Smiling softly, he gently ran his fingers over Clint’s back, taking in all the bare expanses of skin he could get. The memory of the night before was still fresh in his mind; the scent still lingered and clung to his sheets and to their skin. All of the hot, frantic kisses across his jaw and down his neck, while hands tugged and pulled at their heavy clothes. Phil’s dark brown slacks and grey-stained shirt had wound up in a heap on the floor next to his reading chair, his hunter green Captain’s jacket with gold accent striping and buttons was dropped carelessly right inside the door. Lord only knew where his shoes and socks had ended up (all he knew was that the shoes had been a complete hassle and he wished for the thousandth time that someone would invent footwear with fewer hoops and buttons!)

Clint’s hands had been sure and steady as they stripped him down to only what he’d come into the world wearing. The rough, calloused hands of a man who hadn’t seen an easy day’s work in all his life were surprisingly gentle as they roamed his body and brought shivers through him. Phil wasn’t entirely sure where Barton’s clothes had ended up, but they would find them eventually, no doubt.

His hand dipped lower across Clint’s skin, brushing over the soft muscles of his backside. In his mind, he brought up the image of his hands clutching and grasping the other man’s ass as he begged for mercy and pleaded for more. Of Clint lying above him, the moonlight reflecting in his eyes and glittering across his sweat slick skin.

It’d been their first night together in such a way. Their first time giving in to their desires, urges and needs. The first time they’d tumbled into Phil’s bed and made love all through the night, exploring each other’s bodies and professing their long concealed love for one another. While theirs was a time of great advances in the technological world, the idea that two men could love one another and come together the same as a man and woman was still scoffed at and shunned. They would be persecuted should anyone find out (despite the fact Phil was well aware that his First Officer, Steven Rogers, was in fact in a very healthy --albeit very secret-- relationship with Stark.)

Gently, his hand continued to stroke across his new lover’s body, careful so as not to wake him as the man snuggled and nuzzled in closer to him. If it were up to him, the two of them would stay wrapped up in his fine Egyptian cotton sheets and explore each others’ bodies more. That just wasn’t to be today, though.

Beside his bed, a quiet buzzer sounded, alerting him to the fact someone from the bridge was trying to reach him. Shifting, Phil turned a knob (which answered the call) before reaching to turn another (which lowered or raised to volume of the receiver).

“Go ahead,” He said, his voice calm and firm even as he cringed inwardly. The moment he spoke, he felt Clint stir awake next to him and start to move more fluidly.

“Sir, you asked to be informed once we had land in sight. We will be arriving in Great Britain within the half hour.” The voice on the other line reported.

Phil took a breath and nodded. They were going to have to get up and get dressed again.

“Thank you, very much. I will be on bridge in a few moments. Please inform Mr. Stark to have all his gears and gadgets put away before my arrival, Officer Rogers.” A small smile played at the corner of Phil’s mouth as the man on the other line stammered slightly.

“Sir, I shall make sure Mr. Stark is nowhere in sight by the time you arrive.” There was a quiet click as the line was cut off and Phil’s small smile morphed into a full, tight lipped one. Turning the knob back to close his line, he slowly rolled until he was looking right into the kaleidoscope eyes of his First Mate.

“Mornin’, Sir.”

“Morning, Barton.” His tone was soft as he leaned down to press a quick kiss to his lips.

Clint hummed against the kiss, rolling and pulling Phil up on top of him.

“Barton, we need to get dressed and back on the bridge. We’ll be landing shortly.” It was a weak protest, but he had to try anyway.

Clint smirked as he shrugged, legs already wrapped around Phil’s and holding him in place, bare skin to bare skin. “We have a half hour before we reach land. Which means I have at least ten minutes to make sure we both start our mornings off with a smile.”

With a shift and press of his hips, Phil smirked back, leaning his upper body down so he could kiss across Clint’s neck. He wasn’t about to fight the man on that. If it meant he could have another romp in the sheets, and no doubt be in an excellent mood when they landed to refuel, well then, why should he say no?

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Those Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines](https://archiveofourown.org/works/960973) by [AlyKat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/pseuds/AlyKat), [brassmama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brassmama/pseuds/brassmama)




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